


my heart's an open sore that i hope heals soon

by ValyrianAluminum



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Recreational Drug Use, Sad, Sansa is an absolute angel, Some major jon snow feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValyrianAluminum/pseuds/ValyrianAluminum
Summary: It was a routine that was easy to fall back on.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	my heart's an open sore that i hope heals soon

**Author's Note:**

> Title contains lyrics from: Kid Cudi - Soundtrack 2 My Life

It was a routine that was easy to fall back on.

Jon dug around in his backpack until he found it, digging past all the air fresheners, which he used to hide the smell. The chasm in his heart opened all the wider. _Won't be needing those any longer._

After a few moments, he found it. A sandwich bag, filled with the very thing he needed to take his mind off the days proceedings. 

Green, dry, and coated in little crystals that you wouldn't be able to see unless you took a flashlight to it.

He popped a nug or three into the grinder, and gave it a few good twists. The familiar movement eased some of the tension in his bones.

In fact, he could almost pretend that it was just another day, and that the stress he was trying to unload was because of a Chemistry test, or an English presentation.

_If only that were the truth._

Jon set the grinder on his desk, and walked over to his dresser. He opened his sock drawer. _The last place anyone would think to look._

_Not that there was anyone around who would care anymore._

Suddenly his room was too hot, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. He ripped off his suit jacket, flinging it somewhere already forgotten. The tie felt too suffocating, and so he lost that too. He all but tore open his dress shirt, ripping his arms out of the too tight sleeves, but not before noting the faint brown stain near the lapel. _The remnants of the tiramisu._

_Mum loved tiramisu._

The burning behind his eyes, that had been ever so present during the ceremony, returned with a vicious vengeance. Tears threatened to fall, just like they had earlier. 

And, just like earlier, he forced them down. _Mum was always so worried if I cried about anything. She had enough to worry about, raising an asshole teenager by herself. She would want me to be strong._

The bong staring back at him from his sock drawer seemed to be mocking him. _Blowing off your own mother's visitation to get high by yourself? You call that strong?_

Remembering the reason he was here in the first place, he grabbed the bong from the drawer, and brought it over to his desk.

Jon imagined he made some picture.

His hair was a rat's nest of long black curls, sticking out every which way, a far cry from the carefully crafted bun he'd had them in this morning. He wore nothing but a wifebeater which had been too small a year ago, and his pinstriped suit pants, which matched the suit jacket he'd discarded somewhere. The ones his Mum had paid far too much for. 

_"Senior prom only happens once, Jonny!", she'd said, when Jon had groaned after the fourth picture. "If you think I'm taking too many now, just wait until the night of!"_

Those pictures would never happen, but that was something Jon forced himself not to think of.

Thinking was too painful.

And so, Jon let his body move on autopilot.

He unscrewed a water bottle, and poured it down the neck of the bong. He opened up the bottom chamber of the grinder, and began packing himself a bowl. If this bowl was larger than any he'd ever hit before, it was not something he was thinking about.

Thinking was too painful.

His window was cracked, and a small breeze blew through Jon's small room. 

He grabbed his lighter, and put his lips to the spout.

_Flick._

He inhaled slowly, and watched as the green in the bowl burned black, and the glass in his lap turned white. The bowl burned down until there was none left, and Jon inhaled sharply, and removed the bowl piece.

The smoke rushed into his lungs, and there was _so much_ that his lungs burned with the need to exhale. 

But Jon liked the burn. He liked the pain. It felt good to feel _something._

He hadn't felt anything other than hollow since the call came.

It was at this point where he would normally exhale through his open window. _That way, the room wouldn't smell suspicious._

Four days ago, his biggest worry was his Mum catching him smoking weed in his room. _Priorities seem to have shifted._

Jon stood up, and walked over to the window, smoke still held in his lungs, and exhaled through the screen into the afternoon air. _Old habits die hard._

Two tokes, and one gram later, and Jon was high as a kite. It felt almost like relief. He could finally think about his Mum without feeling the familiar sharp pang of grief, that held so much anger, and so much more pain.

_She never knew,_ Jon thought, as he coughed up a lung. _She died thinking that I was her perfect little angel._

If he was sober, he probably would've heard the sound of his front door opening and closing. Maybe he'd have even heard the feminine call of "Jon?"

But Styr sold good shit, and so Jon was entrapped within his own reverie, ignorant to all but the four walls around him.

_She'd be so disappointed if she could see you know._

It was that thought that brought forth a fierce rage, white hot behind his ribs. It was that thought that had him flinging his bong at his bedroom wall.

It shattered, loudly. The murky water splashed against the wall, and the shards of glass scattered the carpeted floor. 

Jon wished he could find somewhere in his heart to care. But, the one person he'd cared for most was gone. HIs heart felt empty, and cold.

Much to his surprise, his room door flew open, and a disembodied voice asked shrilly " _Are you okay!?_ "

It took a few seconds to focus his gaze, and a few more to let his brain connect what he saw to a name.

_Pretty red hair, red rimmed pretty blue eyes, brimming with worry._

"Jon."

"Sansa." he breathed in response, chest still heaving. He became acutely aware of his appearance, and of the smell that permeated within the room, and something akin to shame unfolded in his gut. _Not like this._

"Come here." she called gently, crossing the room carefully, giving the mess of glass a wide berth, not even sparing it a glance. She took both of her hands in his, and her eyes held no judgement. "You'll drive yourself crazy in here. Come see Robb. And Arya. A few games of Mario Kart and you'll be feeling loads better."

"I can't." Jon breathed, avoiding her beseeching gaze. _I never wanted you to see me like this._ "I... I just need to be alone for a bit."

"No, Jon." Sansa disagreed firmly. "That's the last thing you need right now. Come over. For dinner, at least. You shouldn't..."

"You shouldn't be alone." Sansa finished gently, with a hitch of her breath. "Because you're not. We're all here for you. You're anything but alone, Jon."

It was those words that broke the dam. Those tears, _those damned tears_ , the ones he'd fought so hard all day, and every day since the monotone voice of that beat cop had crackled through his phone speakers, talking about a "car crash," and a "drunk driver." 

He collapsed into Sansa's awaiting arms, and buried his face in her neck. His back shook with heaving sobs, and his tears soaked through the black fabric of her dress. _That probably costed a fortune. I'll apologize later tonight._

Sansa showed no signs of annoyance, however. She slowly sat the both of them down on the bed. She cradled his head oh so gently, and the stroke of her hand through his mussed hair, the calming words she whispered into his ear, and the gentle kisses she pressed into his hair took the tension right out of his bones. It only made him cry harder.

Every regret, every unresolved argument, every withheld _I love you_. Everything he wished he could've told his Mum before it was too late. He poured it all into Sansa's embrace. He offloaded every bit of grief he'd supressed onto her, and she only held him all the tighter, and all the sweeter.

After a while, he realized he was speaking, through his tears. It was a mantra, of sorts. 

"She's gone." Jon choked out, into Sansa's neck. "She's gone."

"I know." Sansa responded, after six or seven repetitions on Jon's part. "But you're not alone, Jon. You never will be."

He cried for what felt like forever, but eventually, his tears stopped, and he felt like he could put himself together somewhat. 

"I'm sorry about the dress." He mumbled, flushing a little at the sight of his tears and snot decorating the black fabric covering Sansa's collarbone.

"It's okay." She responded with a smile. He smiled a little back. _How could I not?_ "If it was my prom dress, we'd have issues."

Jon chuckled a bit at that.

"You gonna come over for dinner?" Sansa asked, again.

"Yeah." Jon answered, with no hesitation. "If... if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay, Jon." Sansa assured him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, before pointedly taking in his state of undress. "Get changed and meet me downstairs."

"What's wrong with what I have on?"

"I will not go to prom with a man with spaghetti bolognese all over his trousers."

Jon laughed a little more, before searching her eyes. _Surely not, a_ _fter all you've seen today?_

"You still want to go to prom with me?" Jon asked, voice shaking only a bit. "Even after I got really high, and cried through your dress?"

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Snow." Sansa replied with that sunny smile of hers that he loved so much. 

In that moment, he knew two things. Two things that he believed with his entire soul.

_Firstly, I'm in love with Sansa Stark._

_Secondly, and most importantly:_

_I'll be okay, one day._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different than what you usually get out of me, buuuuuut...
> 
> It's 4:30 am, I'm high, and I'm in my feelings, so this is my outlet.
> 
> Blood is Thicker Than Water update in two weeks!!!! (if not, i'm a lying liar who sits on a throne of lies, and i'm sorry)


End file.
